Chapter 176
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 48
Chapter Title: Repayment (3)
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The building presumed to house the sect leader of the Victory Martial Sect bore a plaque reading "Hall of Heroic Aspiration." It was lavishly decorated, with a modest garden attached to the rear.
The doors of the Hall of Heroic Aspiration swung wide open.
"Who the hell is causing this ruckus?"
A grizzled elder with a striking goatee stepped out, spouting the cliché line, followed by two warriors.
'Not the sect leader. They said he had two sworn brothers—must be one of them.'
Somyang Rang recognized him immediately. He'd already heard the full rundown on the Victory Martial Sect from Madori Guyong.
In that case!
Somyang Rang charged straight in without a word.
Thud thud thud.
The goatee elder furrowed his brow, muttering about the rude bastard, but his words caught in his throat. His eyes widened, and he gulped hard. There was no time for banter—Somyang Rang's approach was fiercer than imagined. Opting to dodge the onslaught first, he shifted left, only for his foot to snag abruptly. That's when he realized he was still straddling the threshold, the boundary between the hall and the outside. They hadn't even exchanged names face-to-face yet.
Damn it all.
The next instant, Somyang Rang resolved the elder's dilemma—whatever it was about "what now?" His ash-gray straight sword howled as it cleaved down from above.
The speed of Somyang Rang's charge and downward strike exceeded the elder's wildest expectations. And this was Somyang Rang holding back somewhat, out of respect for the man's status as one of the sect's top experts.
Flash—boom!
Should we say it exploded?
Or was ripped apart?
The "Hall of Heroic Aspiration" plaque shattered into pieces, and the entrance blew open. It was as if a house-sized tiger had raked its front paw across the building, leaving an indelible gash.
Timbers that should have held firm snapped and splintered, exposing the ugly innards, while billowing clouds of dust erupted forth.
Huff. Huff.
Somyang Rang felt a brief dizzy spell from the massive burst of qi. Breathing heavily, he steadied himself and stepped through what used to be the entrance into the building.
Step step.
The air reeked of blood, dust, and pine resin. Chopped-up corpses—about a dozen—were scattered about. In one corner lay a man as good as dead, vomiting blood.
And the interior was deathly quiet.
So where was the Victory Martial Sect Leader, Sim Ik-seon? Had he fled to the back garden? Or was he hiding like a dead rat in one of the rooms?
Somyang Rang squinted, scanning the area, then crept silently toward a door. It was a sliding paper-paneled door with lattice patterned like coiling dragons.
Just as Somyang Rang reached for the handle—
Pfshk.
Something sharp thrust out from the other side.
Somyang Rang twisted reflexively, raising his sword to block, but the force was so immense it shoved him sliding back. What grated on his nerves even more, though, was the screeching scraaaape of metal on metal.
The sharp object was unmistakably a spear.
A spear it was, but...
The next moment, with a crack, the door splintered as Sim Ik-seon burst forth, shoving his thrust spear forward.
Somyang Rang, confident in his raw strength, tried to hold his ground, but it wasn't easy.
The reason? Sim Ik-seon's spear had clamped down hard on Somyang Rang's sword. More precisely, the sword blade was caught on the crescent blade—"moon fang"—beside the spearhead.
It was the trick of a weapon known as the Azure Dragon Halberd.
Scraaaape.
Sim Ik-seon pushed with the halberd while twisting it cunningly. Somyang Rang was forced back helplessly, struggling to grip his sword as it was yanked and shaken by the halberd's bite.
At this rate, his sword would be wrenched from his grasp any second!
Somyang Rang made a snap decision. The moment his sword dipped downward, he slammed it deep into the floorboards.
Thunk.
The sword plunged deep into the floor. By sacrificing his own weapon's mobility, he'd locked the opponent's in place too. Of course, Sim Ik-seon could just retract his halberd...
But Somyang Rang gave him no such chance. The instant his sword hit the floor, he lunged bare-handed.
'Damn! What a pity.'
That was the first thought in Sim Ik-seon's mind. His lingering attachment kept his hand from releasing the halberd, and that hesitation proved fatal.
Somyang Rang launched himself with a shoulder charge. Only then did Sim Ik-seon let go. Trying to sidestep the bull-rushing Somyang Rang, he circled right, sweeping his arms like parting clouds.
But it was a feint from Somyang Rang.
He'd baited the obvious reaction, then dropped low and exploded toward Sim Ik-seon's lower body.
He grabbed hold, tackled him down, pinned him with his full weight, twisted his right arm back to draw the dagger from his ankle sheath, and stabbed relentlessly until Sim Ik-seon stopped resisting.
Stab. Stab. Stab. Stab.
Soon, Sim Ik-seon went limp. Somyang Rang, panting heavily after the exertion, rose and retrieved his sword.
Then he began interrogating the barely-alive Sim Ik-seon.
…
"You bastards... You think you'll get away with this scot-free?"
At the Eight-Armed Sim Ik-seon's words, Somyang Rang felt a sudden curiosity.
'Is this a threat? Or a dying curse born of realization?'
This was after the interrogation wrapped up.
In truth, he only needed to confirm a few basic facts, so it was neither difficult nor time-consuming. Sim Ik-seon had answered readily enough—Somyang Rang's questions weren't exactly state secrets.
Only once did he play dumb: when asked about their role in the Initial Fish Formation, he feigned ignorance—"Initial Fish Formation? What's that?"—until two fingers were ripped off, then confessed that only he and his two sworn brothers had joined; the regular disciples were clueless.
It sounded like a lie to Somyang Rang, but he'd let it slide. No need to bother with the small fry.
'Besides, what does it matter now what his intentions were?'
Somyang Rang set aside the trivial doubt and responded to Sim Ik-seon's question.
"And you thought you'd get away with the crap you pulled?"
"…"
"The Zhao Family Manor on Ye Mountain doesn't forget favors or grudges. When it comes to settling scores, it doesn't matter who the target is or what's in it for us."
With that delivered, Somyang Rang lopped off Sim Ik-seon's head in one clean stroke.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
As Somyang Rang turned, Hyung U-saeng stood in the entrance—entrance no more—clapping, though Somyang Rang hadn't heard him arrive.
"Well, look at you—our little brother all Zhao Manor now."
"Tch, I was just passing on the message as requested. Don't read into it."
"Oh? Who'd make stubborn old Lone Fang spout such an embarrassing line?"
"Hmph. Anyway, Uncle, what kept you? Don't tell me you were slacking off while I was busting my ass—again."
Somyang Rang flushed and fired back aggressively.
Truth be told, he didn't care what Hyung U-saeng had been up to. No time for that. He just wanted to change the subject—left alone, Hyung U-saeng would tease him endlessly: "Our brother said it himself—the Zhao Manor never forgets a grudge." Mortifying. Best defense is a good offense, right?
Sure enough, Somyang Rang's ploy worked. Hyung U-saeng latched onto the new topic, protesting his innocence.
"Hey now? That's a misunderstanding. I finished my business and rushed here, only to witness the strangest sight. What could I do? Had to watch for a bit."
"Fine, whatever. We'll talk later—let's move. Flying Tiger's probably sweating buckets alone."
"Kukuku! That's exactly what I meant."
"What do you mean?"
"The weird sight I saw? It was about that Flying Tiger you're fretting over."
"…?"
Hyung U-saeng cackled at Somyang Rang's baffled expression before explaining.
To sum up Hyung U-saeng's account:
Flying Tiger was spinning nearly a hundred Victory Martial Sect warriors in circles.
He was drilling them so mercilessly that even Hyung U-saeng, watching briefly, felt nauseous.
Half were already exhausted, crawling on all fours, but Flying Tiger couldn't stand the sight—he was jabbing the rears of those refusing to run, forcing them onward.
Somyang Rang half-believed, half-doubted. It didn't sound like total fabrication. But with Hyung U-saeng's unique perspective, it was hard to separate fact from jest.
Hyung U-saeng pouted, annoyed at the lukewarm reaction despite his spirited explanation.
"Hmph, you don't believe me? You'd have to experience it yourself to wise up."
Somyang Rang replied mildly, a bit awkwardly.
"Well... I acknowledge the kid's skills, but he's still young. A bit early for him to spin me around, no?"
"Heh heh heh, you really think so?"
"Don't I?"
"Fine. You might still be a step ahead. But remember this: if you ever fight that guy..."
"…?"
"Make sure it's in open terrain. If it's cluttered with obstacles, forfeit the fight if you have to—avoid it."
With that, Hyung U-saeng departed first. Somyang Rang followed, head tilted in puzzlement over the parting words.
'Does Flying Tiger excel in terrain-dependent fights? Better than me there? ...Tch, I'll see when I get there.'
A short while later, the commotion at the Victory Martial Sect died down.
A flying stone struck the heads of three warriors hot on Flying Tiger's heels, bursting them one after another. They dropped dead. As the remaining warriors whirled in shock, a severed head thudded into their midst.
It was Sect Leader Eight-Armed Sim Ik-seon's.
At that moment, the Victory Martial Sect warriors' morale crumbled. The sect was finished—that was the thought. Another sect might have raged blindly at their leader's death, charging to the end. But not these men.
The few loyal to their leader lacked the power. The powerful lacked the loyalty worth dying for. And the middling majority just watched each other.
Thus, Flying Tiger, Hyung U-saeng, and Somyang Rang tore through the sect and departed leisurely, with not a soul pursuing them.